---

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII
Work rating: Low

HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
 My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
 Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
 With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
 For my love ended unexpectedly
 During the Winter, stricken like a tree
 By a night`s cold, and frozen to the blood,
 Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
 By any promise of the years to be.
 And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
 Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
 Though all around was Summer in the wood.
 Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
 That such a tree should be for ever dead.
 ```Tis early yet,`` they cried. ``The Spring is late.
 It shall still be as in the days that were.``
 But Summer came and went while the tree stood
 Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
 --Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.